


Happy Endings...Depend...

by love2imagine



Category: White Collar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-03 22:59:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4117867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/love2imagine/pseuds/love2imagine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This comes from that sad little scene at the end of one of my favourite episodes where Neal tells Mozzie he doesn't want to go, and Mozzie goes.  </p><p>(Season 3, episode 10. (3.10) Soilers for that ep and the next, Checkmate.)</p><p>I usually stop watching there...but I can always imagine something better.</p><p>Blast - forgot! Characters and WC storyline not mine. Created by Jeff Eastin. Changes, new story, mistakes, all mine!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Happy Endings...Depend...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My fellow writers: danajeanne](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+fellow+writers%3A+danajeanne), [ayam; ethel09; padyandmoony](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=ayam%3B+ethel09%3B+padyandmoony), [Mums_the_Word](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mums_the_Word/gifts), [hurinhouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hurinhouse/gifts), [and others](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=and+others).



 

 

 

Neal grinned. It had been an exhilarating day – stealing back the Degas, BASE jumping off the tallest building he’d yet jumped from, and in difficult conditions, and fooling both Peter _and_ Kramer. He had also enjoyed looking Peter in the eye and telling him that he _knew_ that Peter had wanted to find the painting, had wanted a reason to come after _him._ And from Peter’s expression, when Kramer left – Kramer, who had asked _him_ to authenticate the Degas! – Peter somehow knew that it was Neal’s work, knew that somehow he’d been the butt of an elegant and perfectly executed con! 

Oh, life was good! A day to remember when he was elderly, if he survived that long, of course, telling tall stories to children in the warm Tuscany sun. Or something similar!

 

“We did it, Moz!” he said, pouring the deep red liquid. “The FBI is off our trail!”

 

But instead of Mozzie’s impish grin and a tip of the glass for a toast to their combined brilliance, Moz didn’t touch the glass and didn’t respond. Neal felt a stab of unease. “I've never known you to pass up a good Bordeaux.”

  
“Notice anything?” Mozzie glanced at the enormous sand-glass, now well and truly run out. It was typical of Mozzie that there were no histrionics.

 

“ Come on!” Neal pleaded. “Can we please enjoy our victory?”

 

“Neal, I've been really patient. But it's time for you to make a choice.

            “Do you want to leave or not?”

 

“No. There are things about this life I'm not ready to give up.”

  
“Do you even know what this life is anymore? I mean, you're on a leash! You're still in prison!” Mozzie turned, and Neal could see the emotion…almost despair…sitting on his shoulders, even though none showed in his face. He walked towards the door. “You have Stockholm syndrome.”

  
“I can always walk out that door, Moz. I can never walk back in.”

 

Mozzie turned. “Well, then, you've made your choice. I always thought ours would be a happy ending.”

  
“If you want a happy ending, it depends –

 

“ – on where you stop the story. Yeah, Orson Welles. Remember Hemmingway's version, though. Life's too short.

            “I'll see you around, Neal.” Mozzie shrugged and walked out the door, saying, “You're fooling yourself if you think this is who you really are…”

The door closed behind the oldest and most trusted friend Neal had…well, he trusted June, too, but of course not in the same way. Mozzie had held his life and freedom in his hands for many, many years before prison. Mozzie had saved him from death and capture and fixed up his body and tried (with some perhaps explicable puzzlement) to understand his emotions.

 

Neal took a sip of the 'good' Bordeaux that tasted now of bitter regret and grief.

 

He looked down at it, wondering if he would ever enjoy wine again! He had wanted to toast the exploits of a day he would never have dared to attempt without Mozzie. He remembered all the things he had done to help Peter that had required his friend’s invaluable help; the cases he’d closed for Peter, but only because of Mozzie.

 

The Dutchman – saving Neal from instant re-incarceration because Peter and the Bureau only wanted him for his immediate usefulness. Without Mozzie, they would not have known where to start looking. All the Bureau resources hadn’t found him. Mozzie had.

 

The Healing Bible – Mozzie had done the research that pinpointed the motive and went into Ignazzio’s place so they could find the link to Maria Fiametta AND Mozzie took the book and got it to Steve, which was the right thing to do.

 

The Iraqi Coins: Moz had helped him scam a limousine, had become the chauffer and then made Peter’s life a whole lot easier by knocking down Aimes!

 

His thoughts did a hitch-step – the Bad Judge, Fowler and Kate – Mozzie had helped Peter and El, had gone out of his way to destroy the evidence against Peter.

 

Mozzie had been there for him all the way through his Quest for Kate…and Peter had lied to him about her, had told him to stay away and then found her himself and had never organised a face-to-face between himself and Kate! Peter had talked to her but did not think he should let Neal have that chance. Neal wondered, for a moment, how it would have changed things.

 Moz had been invaluable in many aspects of that stupid ‘contest’ of Keller’s to fake the Ben Franklin bottle.

Moz had saved his bacon when he had been forced to steal from, as Moz himself put it ‘THE Edward Riley’, when the FBI had been not only absolutely useless, but had put him in harm’s way again and again, with no back-up for most of that horrible time that Gless’s daughter was held hostage.

 

Then Moz had joined him to go after the Music Box. Moz had never trusted Kate – perhaps he’d been a little jealous, perhaps afraid his partner would settle down and have a family…he’d known, as Neal had himself when he admitted it, that Kate wanted a good life but certainly didn’t have the heart for The Life. Yet through it all, Moz had helped him because it was what Neal wanted. Peter remained an obstacle to him finding Kate, had known they were going after the music box, too, and had told him that he’d given Neal a chance at a better life.

 

And he had told Peter that it wasn’t the life he wanted. He’d said it and meant it.

 

What _did_ he want? A life with the FBI and a tiny little house in the ’burbs? With a woman who only knew him as the dull and honest consultant…dull? Was Peter dull?

 _Yeah, Peter’s dull. He watches ball games, grills on the back porch and drinks the same kind of beer – or their spiritual equivalents - every weekend he has off. The only time he travelled was to catch me – and the odd holiday with El. He doesn’t shower after working out. He doesn’t appreciate art. Or good food. Or wine. His wife does, he doesn’t. Hell – I should be partnered with_ Elizabeth!

  _Partnered...Did I honestly think for one moment that Kate and I could ‘settle down’ and be normal? Did I honestly think she’d joyfully plan heists and cons?_

 _Sure, I like Peter sometimes. I trust him to be brave and selfless and to put his life on the line for innocents, and even me. But I can’t trust him about things that matter to me: such as Kate. He never even offered to get us together. That would have been the smart move if he truly thought she was using me – I’d have seen that, and he must have known it. So either he was stupid, or he_ **_knew_ ** _she was scared of Fowler, and that she did care about me._

_Or perhaps he thought that if I saw she didn’t care, I’d move on – cut the anklet and go? Or if she did care for me, grab her and run? I don’t know how she was being controlled –_ **if** _she was being controlled! But to do that to a friend…she died, and I’ll never have the chance to know! I never had the chance to know for myself, and Peter did that to me._

_How many times has Mozzie helped me? Helped Peter? Hell, almost all the cases I’ve worked, he’s been there and helped me. And this last thing, with Peter and Kramer on my heels – Mozzie saves me. He didn’t need to. And he’ll never be there for me again. Peter has shown his hand…I’m all alone, except for June, and she can hardly help me in a case such as this one. Sure, Mozzie sold the Degas to get Keller, and if he hadn’t swiped it in the first place – but he had no way of knowing I didn’t want that! I didn’t tell him…_

_…but to work with someone like Peter, smart enough and with huge resources, and never knowing when he’s likely to stab me in the back…I have lots of undiscovered crimes he could get me for, without the treasure even being in play. And for Peter, furthering his career has always been paramount…he is hardly attentive to his wife, he’ll certainly sacrifice me, as he would have today._

Neal sat down, setting his wine glass almost untouched on the table. He felt empty, and realised it was the same dreadful feeling he’d had when he realised he’d never see Kate again. Because he had no doubt – that had been good-bye from Mozzie. And if Kate thought she knew how to disappear ….Mozzie would have been the given the award for the Grand Supreme Disappearing Artist of All Time – except no-one knew who he was! _Mozzie the magician, the illusionist you can only allude to._

 _  
_ That's why he kept thinking of Kate. Another one gone.

 

_Oh God, what have I done?_

_Peter_ **_has_ ** _been better than I thought he’d be. He could have been brutal and mean – and he was, now and then, but most of it is because he has no empathy, little class and tunnel vision: his job, his wife, in that order. Not a single friend. That’s who he is. Can’t blame him for that._

 _But when has he put himself out for Mozzie? He can hardly be polite to him, even for my sake. He ran Alex’s prints: that was_ disgusting _, walking into my home when he’d told me he wasn’t coming – not even the courtesy of a phone call! She messed up the case because of that, and has never trusted me since. Can’t blame her…what is Peter making of me? What am I becoming? My sweet June, never knowing when the FBI’s hobnailed boots will stomp all over her beautiful house because of me – or just their suspicions. My lover – killed. My friend never trusting me again. My partner leaving because he has no faith in me, doesn’t know me, because I outright lied to him. I can’t believe I did that._

He looked around. His clever mind ran a movie of his life in New York, all on fast forward. And he realised why he was hesitant to leave.

 

 

Not Peter, _**June.**_

 

Not Stockholm syndrome. Just simple love.

 

This gorgeous house and designer clothing – sure, they were nice. But he’d have loved June if she’d given him a single room in a tiny, smelly apartment. Because she was the mother he wished he’d had. She was like a fairy-god-mother in those old children stories, finding this waif in the thrift store and waving her magic wand and turning him into a prince, to all intents and purposes.

  _I thought Peter was sometimes like a friend, a father, a big brother. But look at him today, wanting so much to prove we have the treasure so he could lock me away. That’s not a friend, or a brother and certainly not a father. There’s not one iota of loyalty to me. He works with me, he uses me, he enjoys my smart brain and my talents he can use – and a lot of those talents that he used were Mozzie’s! And Mozzie hates putting people away, unless they hurt his friends, or children, or they resort very easily to violence._

Neal took out his phone and dialled Mozzie’s number. It was out-of-service. He tried the other twelve phones he knew Mozzie had. Nothing. He could imagine a vivid scene of fish – if fish lived there at all – at the bottom of the East River or the Hudson, gathering noses-down around a dozen cell-phones lying higgledy-piggledy on the bottom, seeing their reflections in the blank screens. _I’m probably idealising the bottom of those rivers more than I idealised Peter Burke! But I’ll paint it one day…call it ‘Here today, gone tomorrow’. Or ‘You can’t hear me now’._

He blinked.

He hurriedly changed his Italian Leather for running shoes and set off. If there was one thing he could do better, faster than Mozzie, it was run.

 

As it was, he was there too late at Sunday, Wednesday and Thursday. But he had more luck at Tuesday – Mozzie had placed his entire comic and record collection there when he’d upped the level of security. Every one was encased in plastic, of course, and housed in open boxes, also plastic lined, so that all he had to do was turn them on their backs, tie off the bag and seal the box.

 He’d already labelled them and had one of his helpers – people even Neal did not know, even more secretive and strange than Mozzie himself – was already loading them into a truck. Neal carefully didn’t look at the man…if it was a man. With that huge baggy coat and pulled-down hat, it could have been anyone.

 Mozzie looked up, stone-faced. “That was good-bye, Neal, in case you missed it. No do-overs, no mulligans. I’m not good with people, but I’m good at saying what I mean – and there’s no bargaining and no pleading. I’m not staying. You had plenty of chances. You don’t want my Life, and I do _**not**_ want yours. Good-bye. Please go, or I’ll call your Suit and start telling him just a few of the - ”

 “Oh, Mozzie, I love you! You are so smart!”

Mozzie took a step backwards, his face a mask of horror. “I think you landed on your head on Wall Street, Neal!”

“Can we put it down to that? I don’t know what I was thinking! Burke was wanting to find the Degas to put me away, forever! He doesn’t even value my skills enough to want to keep me out of prison. He doesn’t care about me as a person, and he certainly doesn’t care about you – and I realised how many times you’ve helped him.” Neal glanced round and saw that the van had pulled away. He walked Mozzie into Tuesday and shut the door.

            “Mozzie, can I change my mind? I only ask that I have a chance to say good-bye to June, first. For a while, I was thinking that would be a forever good-bye, but she can come and visit us whenever we get settled. If we’re careful, we can come back here – Keller’s walked the streets of New York when several agencies and the Russian mob were after him! Lots of people in New York!”

 

Mozzie’s glasses flashed. He whispered, “Keller is walking them right now!

            “Seriously, Neal?”

 

“Seriously. Let’s go. I think Burke has finally worn out my welcome!”

 

“ _I_ think you’ve finally come to your senses! Keller and Burke and Kramer after you – New York is not for you, mon frère!”

 

“It has been far too long since you called me that!”

 

“It’s been far too long since you made me feel like calling you that, Neal FBI-asset Caffrey!”

 

“I haven’t got much to sort out. D’you need any help? I _must_ say good-bye to June. And Burke can go back to wanting me in prison as a full-time occupation, instead of alternate days! _Hah!”_

 

“I already said good-bye to June. But give her a hug from me – I am never good with that kind of thing!”

 

“When? After your grand exit? That’s when you said good-bye to June?”

 

Mozzie grinned. “It was a good exit, I admit it! And yes!”

 

“And yet you’ve cleaned out three of your safehouses already, and just about the fourth?”

 

“And the other three are already empty, other than false trails in case Burke finds them. It is a lovely aspect of Law Enforcement…if there’s a pamphlet there for Vancouver, Canada, another for Alice Springs, Australia and one for Tierra del Fuego, they have to go and investigate, or their overseers can inquire as to why they didn’t! Isn’t that fun? Also some hair from an eland antelope – that should confuse them. It’s in a hair-brush! Hope Burke has air-miles!”

 

“He’ll probably be taken off the case, having messed up and lost me.”

 

“Poor, lost Neal!

            “And you know I need no help moving. The,” he leaned in close and whispered, though Neal knew for a fact that every one of his safehouses were sound-proofed and swept daily for bugs! “treasure has already been moved.”

 

_Other folks think they’ve got moves! Mozzie dances creative solo’s to his own music!_

 

“You’re incredible!”

 

“Thank you. It’s all in the planning and afore-seeing! I only have one or two more things to do before leaving. Most satisfying.”

 “Mozzie…”

 “No, no, in your honour, I abjure violence! Unless absolutely necessary. This is just an irresistable diversion of resources!

            “I’ll see you at the little airport we scouted, in Virginia?”

 

“Yep!”

 

Neal smiled and turned and walked two steps before Mozzie said, “I’m very…pleased…you’re coming with me, mon frère.”

 Neal turned and caught a look on his friend’s face he seldom saw. He felt his eyes prickle with unexpected tears, and he turned to hide them and waved over his shoulder. He felt a huge excitement start to grow inside him.

 

Free! He was finally free!

 

 

 

Peter Burke felt wrung out, and he knew why. He had lost. Somehow, some way, Neal had tricked him. He knew it! He could feel it! He couldn’t prove it, but he knew it!

Not only that, but in those same masterful strokes that his CI had left on the canvas, a representation of the ‘Entrance of the Masked Dancers’ that drew admiration from the man he knew to be stingy with praise - heck, he’d angled for such kind words from his mentor! – Neal had twisted that canny, cynical man round his slender fingers! The very man who had been uttering dire warnings about being too close with his CI, because in all likelihood he was going to have to arrest him. Put cuffs on him…not that it usually did much good to cuff Caffrey…

 

Having failed to find the real Degas was not in itself tiring. Being conned by his CI, whom he had, himself, locked in a security room, and having the man look across and tell him he knew how much he wanted this, wanted to catch him in the act, how much he’d wanted so see Neal’s face when he saw that he had the painting he’d stolen…of course, Neal just looked eager, just as eager as any innocent artist would, about to see the real Degas up close and personal – but really because all Peter had was a handful of Neal’s own forgery.

 Part of Peter had become way too invested in the chase. He didn’t really want to see that bright young man thrown back in a cell. But he also wanted to win, and he really, really hated to lose to someone who had never done an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay, that was for sure! The only satisfactory thing about it was that Kramer could never blame him, even if the truth came out. Kramer had been even more fooled by the pair of bright blue eyes!

 

Eventually El phoned and talked him into coming home. He felt relieved that he could continue to work on the case…but he could also just sit on the couch beside El and watch old baseball games and drink beer if he chose. No-one would fault him for it. Tomorrow was another day. Perhaps if he went round early to Neal’s, he’d catch him with paint on his shoes or something…! Neal must be feeling pretty damned cocky about now! Most likely to make a mistake.

 

He climbed into the car, half thinking of going over to Riverside Drive right then – but he’d promised El - and then he saw the cell phone on the dash. He quickly glanced round the car. No agent should ever let someone tackle him in his own car …but he was alone. Then the phone rang. He answered it.

 “You’re working late. You’re persistent, give you that. But the _early_ bird catches the worm. That’s if you’re into worms, of course.”

 “Mozzie?”

 “Yeah. Don’t sound surprised and don’t sound anything but delighted. You need my help.”

 “What are you talking about?”

 “Go home. Have a lovely evening with your wife. Oh, as you enter your abode, check under the mat. As the lawyers like to say, ‘You’ll learn something to your advantage.’”

 “How would _you - ?”_

 “University of Arizona, remember? Tsk, tsk, keep up, Suit! Keep up!”

 

Peter drove all the way home with a feeling of unease. Mozzie always made him feel a little like that: he didn’t like things he didn’t understand, and he didn’t understand Mozzie. At all.

 

He got home and everything looked normal. That was nice. Under the mat was a thumb drive in an envelope. He picked it up with gloves, knowing full well it would be as clean as a whistle, inside and out, if this was from Mozzie.

 “Hi, Hon!” Elizabeth said, smiling her wide smile.

 “Hi, Hon.”

 “Well, that could have been more enthusiastic! What’s that?”

 “I think it’s a secret something from Neal’s favourite weird little friend!”

 “On a flash drive?”

 “Apparently. He called me on a burner phone he left in my car!” Peter resisted grinding his teeth at the thought.

 “You think he’s left prints?”

 “No, I don’t think he’s left prints. But I have to be sure.”

 “Well, play it, Hon!”

 “Maybe it will wipe our computer! Or blow up!”

 

El just looked at him, so he went to the laptop, opened it and plugged in the thumb drive. He opened the menu and all that showed was an audio file. He made sure the speakers were on and clicked on the file.

 The voice was deep, nicely modulated, a little Bogie-like, low-class British accent.

 “So, you know what ya gotta do?”

 Peter paused it, his brown eyes huge. “That’s _Keller!”_

 “Oh, my God!” El answered. “Go on – play it!”

 Peter clicked play.

 An unknown voice said, “Yeah, yeah. Where will you be?”

 Keller answered, “Establishing an alibi, of course.”

 “I see. Your hands are clean.”

 “Now you’re catching on, Grant-ey. But it’s easy. Woman alone. There’s just an older dog, but he’s gentle, knackered, and a Labrador to boot, so he’ll give you no trouble at all…not for a great big strong muscle man like you. Easy to take her.

            “She’s not armed. She doesn’t like guns, unlike her husband, but since I’ll tell you exactly when to take her, we know he’ll just be leaving work. Bring her here. I’ll join you. Burkey’ll want to get proof of life, and I want to be here for that.

            “Her name’s Elizabeth. That’ll spook her.”

 

El clutched Peter’s arm tightly. “They’re planning to kidnap me! Oh, Peter!”

Peter’s gun was out of its holster so fast El could hardly believe it. “Go upstairs. Lock yourself in the bedroom. My spare is in the safe. You know how to use it.”

 

At that moment, the burner phone rang. “Go, El!” Peter said, moving so his back was against the wall and he could see both the front and back doors. El gave him a desperate _‘Keep yourself safe!’_ look, and ran up the stairs. He heard the door slam, and a large piece of furniture being pulled across it. He answered the phone.

“Suit - ”

 “How did you get this! When are they going to try this. Mozzie! if you lie to me - !”

 “Get over yourself, Suit. Believe it or not, I could care less about you. I would not bother to concoct such a lie. And I would suggest you take a calmer approach when you want help. Not everyone can be bullied or coerced.”

 There was a silence. Then Peter said, quietly, “Are you working with Keller? Was he in our bedroom? Did I - ”

 “Suit, I am not surprised that government is so expensive to run. You have taken up most of my time, and if it runs out, I guess you’ll never know why I phoned you. Just the thought that I’d work for Keller - after what he did to Hale...”

 “I – I’m sorry, Mozzie. Please tell me.”

 “Pay close attention, Suit. I have no time to repeat what I’m about to say. Keller thought Neal had the treasure and was about to kidnap Mrs Suit. Tonight. Luckily, he’s an idiot and threatened me first, and luckily he’s over-burdened with hubris and got too close and glanced away, which gave me enough time to plant a bug in his sleeve. Hence, the audio file you just listened to. Moral of this tale: don’t underestimate small, innocuous-looking bald men, and always be prepared.

            “You would have got home to find her gone. Keller was chancing his luck. Neal never had the treasure, never saw anything more of it than he saw with you on the sub.

            “It was worth it, though, to Keller, to give it a try. Don’t know what he would have done if you hadn’t been able to give the treasure to him. He’s a killer. Killed a friend of mine, remember? I provided you with that proof.

            “You misplayed Neal, Suit. He really was beginning to think you liked him and trusted him, he started to like you…but you never will, and after that fiasco today, he’s realised it. I can just imagine your reaction to him if Keller...so well known for honesty and integrity, Keller!..told you that Neal had the treasure!

            "Not only that, but because of his proximity to your wife, she could have been kidnapped because some word on the street, possibly your confidence he had the Degas, made Keller think Neal might have the treasure. Or, of course, because Keller is as crazy as a soup sandwich. Take your pick.

            “Neal would rather not be distrusted and used any more, or gratuitously put in danger. Or locked in storage closets, for that matter, like unwanted luggage! He also would rather not be responsible for other unsavoury characters cluttering up Mrs Suit’s life. Just remember what he did for you today. Just remember when you climb into bed, both of you safe and sound, what he did for you. Perhaps remember what you both owe him, when you wake together.

            “And in future, appreciate those around you. Like Mrs Suit, for example. Stop leaving work so late.”

 

“Mozzie – where’s Neal.”

 “No, no, Suit, what you _should_ be asking is, ‘Where’s Keller?’”

Peter swallowed. “Where’s Keller, Mozzie?”

 “Keller and his goon are both nicely secured at the address on the piece of paper used to make the envelope.”

 Peter went to the counter and picked it up. “It’s blank, Mozzie…!”

 “Open up the paper and heat it with a warm iron. Candle flame works, too, but greater chance of a fire. Pretty classic, and very simple. Thought you’d like it. Sure you were an Eagle Scout.

            “And I suggest that’s where you go. Whatever else happens. Because though I think Keller is secure, he’s a wily bastard and I’d hate him to go free.”

 “Mozzie – thank you. If this is legit, thank you very much. And thank Neal. Tell him…thank you. But he doesn't have to - ”

“Yeah. He could have done with more 'thank-you's. Better late than never, I guess. Good - ”

“Mozzie, can I speak to him? Please? Just a moment?”

“Don’t be stupid, Suit! _Really!_ What do they teach you in Quantico, anyway! I know how long it takes to triangulate a call, and I’ve given you quite enough time, but I’m just a helpful citizen. I would hardly have Neal here with me, now, would I?”

 “No, I – I guess not.”

 “Gotta go. Have fun putting Keller away.”

 “I will.”

 

The line went dead. Peter’s cell phone rang as he was warming the iron and running it over the paper, El’s darling breath soft on his neck as she leaned close.

 

Peter said, “Burke.” 

“Peter – Neal’s anklet just activated! I - ”

 “Jones – more important things - ”

 “ _More important things?”_

“Yeah. Get yourself and Diana and SWAT to the following address…we may have finally got Keller. And the proof to put him away for a long time. And send a team to my house to look after El. Keller was planning to kidnap her, and I want to be the one to collar him!”

 “Yes, Peter! At once!”

 

  

 

 

Altitude turned the city into a huge spangle of self-lit jewels strewn onto black velvet. It was a beautiful, self-contained city, and would wait for him to return.

Mozzie had the last word. He leaned over and whispered, the tones full of joy, "Thoreau said, 'All good things are wild and free.' Welcome back."

 

 

 

 

 

 

End of ‘Happy Endings Depend’

 

 

 

 

 

I could lump all these stories: Criminals are Bad, Parallels and Divergence from the Norms, Birthday Cards and other Little Gifts, Dead or Alive, Be Careful What you Wish For, Turning Point, Call me Danny and, in fact, the entire series New Beginnings **_and_ ** Out of this World into a huge ‘Over Series’ called “Happy Endings” !

Some of them could be lumped together as ‘Peter Should Have Thought That One Through’ or ‘Neal Is Cleverer than That!”

This is my reaction to some really stupid thinking on Neal’s part, in my opinion. And in case anyone accuses me (as has been done before. “No!” you say. “Tell me it isn’t so!” and I have to nod sadly and say, “It’s so.”) of Peter bashing…this is all canon. Until it isn’t. Of course.

Oh, and of course, comments! Why do you think I write this stuff!

 

 

 

 


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